


These Hands Stained Red

by platypusesrneat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Morality, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Murder Husbands, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 21:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13175637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platypusesrneat/pseuds/platypusesrneat
Summary: Stiles and Peter deal with the supernatural. Their way.





	These Hands Stained Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merwin_Me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merwin_Me/gifts).



> My Secret Santa gift for Merwin_Me! I'll be putting up the second chapter soon!

"Ready," Stiles asks Peter, bat in lap as he switches gears.  
  
Peter nods, teeth gleaming in the pale moonlight.  
  
"Ready."  
  
Stiles calls what they're doing _Operation Kick Some Ass_ , and while crude, the name encompasses their overall goal surprisingly well. Scott never allows them the freedom to deal with supernatural threats, regardless of how dangerous it actually is to allow them all to live. So, each time after Scott lets enemies go, Peter and Stiles go on an impromptu 'road trip' to 'check up' on them.  
  
"Scott knew that witch was lying when she said she wouldn't kill again, he had to, but he just lets her go," Stiles growls angrily, foot slamming down on the gas. "All of them did. It's stupid."  
  
"And dangerous," Peter adds, more than pleased with Stiles.  
  
"Good thing we're here, right?"  
  
"Indeed."  
  
Peter is, for once, relieved that he never turned Stiles, because if he had Stiles would know that every time they take one of these trips, Peter falls a little harder--it's all in his scent. It's difficult not to, when they are trading witty remarks and sarcastic smiles so often. After the first couple trips, Peter began to make it a point to grab him curly fries before every Pack meeting. After a few more, he began dropping off Stiles's favorite snacks at the Stilinski house every week. A month later, and Peter is struck by the realization that he is providing for Stiles.  
  
Fuck, Peter loves him.  
  
"Uh, Peter, we're here. Get your big boy ass-kicking pants on, and let's start the show."  
  
He rolls his eyes and opens the jeep door.  
  
"Please," Peter snorts. "I refuse to be told that by a teenager wearing neon orange tights."  
  
Stiles laughs, a loud, cheerful chuckle, making Peter go light headed for a moment.  
  
"Touché."

* * *

Afterwards, it has become a tradition for Peter to treat Stiles to a night of fun ("After all," Peter always reasoned, "it wouldn't do if I didn't. Tonight it had been decided to be arcade night, and Stiles promises to show him no mercy on Mariokart (what Stiles does not know is that Peter is very experienced at that exact game, as he enjoyed beating his siblings at it countless times when he was younger).  
  
  
"Dude, look! Air hockey! C'mon, c'mon, I haven't played air hockey in forever because Scott's always doing mushy stuff with Allison," Stiles pesters, pulling on the sleeve of Peter's v-neck with a mischievous grin. Peter lets himself be dragged further into the arcade, handing over tokens with a fond look as Stiles's repeats "Gimme, gimme!". Peter is surprised to find that despite his super fast reflexes and inhuman speed, he loses every time.  
  
Until he smells the waves of magic coming off of him.  
  
"Cheater," Peter accuses, more amused than anything.  
  
"I have no idea what you're talking about. You're just being a sore loser and not accepting my skills for what they are, old man!"  
  
Peter bares his teeth and growls playfully, and is filled with contentment when Stiles does the same back.  
  
This is the same Stiles that lit Peter on fire with a Molotov cocktail, Peter thinks, as he watches him chug a Mountain Dew. Sweaty, grinning, and so pretty that Peter wants to lean in and lick the salt off his neck. Peter suddenly finds himself in terrible need of adjustment.  
  
"Hey, Peter," Stiles suddenly says, breaking him out of his lecherous mindset. "it's almost summer, and dad's told me that if I wanted to spend it with someone, I could, 'cause I'm eighteen and all. I was thinking..."  
  
He looks at Peter with a worried smile, and Peter knows he's expecting him to reject him. Hell, he probably should, because there's no way he'll be able to resist the temptation of kissing Stiles a whole summer.  
  
"You want to spend it with me?"  
  
He hates how unsure he sounds, and the reasoning behind it. But Stiles just nods quickly, sheepishly, like the words embarrass him.  
  
"Scott and I aren't that close anymore, and I don't think I'd want to be with him anyways. But, uh, if you don't want to--"  
  
"I do," Peter interrupts. How could he not want him? How can he say no to Stiles when he's like this? Peter finds himself unable to answer either of those questions, though he desperately wants to. It would be better for Stiles to never learn that Peter feels this way about him. "Trust me, I most certainly do."  
  
Stiles flushes.  
  
"Great. I guess I'll text you later, then?"  
  
Peter nods distractedly.

 

_Want to come over,_ Stiles texts him a couple days later.

_Would that be wise?_

_Nah. but Buffy is on Netflix and you always bring the good popcorn to pack meetings_

Peter scoffs. _It's not my fault Derek never stocks up on proper movie snacks_

_Just come over. Please?_

As if Peter could say no to such a request.

That's how Peter finds himself eating horribly unhealthy popcorn with Stiles at two in the morning.  
  
"You have butter on your chin, you heathen."  
  
Stiles wipes at his face, missing it entirely.  
  
"Did I get it?"  
  
"Here, just let me," Peter mutters, leaning forwards and capturing his chin. Peter licks his thumb and wipes the sticky substance away.  
  
"Got it."  
  
He starts to lean back, then falters. Stiles's doe eyes are big, and capture Peter in the most willing way. This close, Peter can see the individual hues in his eyes, and see that they are not only brown, but also gold and shimmer when the light hits them. Peter wants to drown in them, and he has to have fallen hard because that is the sappiest thing he's ever thought.  
  
"I want to kiss you right now," Peter says, and almost immediately regrets the words. He likes Lydia. There's no way. Peter can't--  
  
"I want you to too," Stiles whispers.  
When their lips meet, Stiles sinks into it with a sigh, closing his eyes and curling a hand around Peter's shoulder, almost like he's trying to ground himself. Peter has to stop himself from shifting, the taste of Stiles testing his control like nothing before. He tastes like sugar and blood, and like everything Peter's ever wanted but never had the chance to have. He doesn't deserve this, he knows he doesn't, but that doesn't matter when Stiles's tongue (the same one Peter follows wetting his lips every single day) enters Peter's mouth.  
  
When they part, they're gasping. Peter is a little dazed, especially when he sees Stiles's eyes half-lidded like they are.  
  
"About damn time," Stiles growls, pushing Peter against the couch so he can capture his lips into another kiss, this one forceful and desperate.  
  
There are so many things Peter wants to say to him, but for now he just laughs into Stiles's mouth and brings his hands up to hold his cheeks.  
  
They have time.


End file.
